


Market Street

by Sangerin



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8326876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sangerin/pseuds/Sangerin
Summary: Her old table was still there, almost as though it had been waiting for her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in March 2001

‘So, what’ll it be? Long black, short black, espresso, macchiato, liqueur…,’ the young man behind the coffee machine rattled the list off rapidly.

‘Espresso, thanks,’

‘Comin’ right up. Take a seat, ma’am.’

Her old table was still there, almost as if it were waiting for her. The Night Owl was crowded with cadets and civilians, but ‘her’ table was empty. It was a booth in the corner that would fit four at a pinch, but was far more comfortable for two. It was even better for one. She slid into the seat which backed the wall, and stretched out her legs to rest them on the opposite banquette. She had been on her feet all day, and as she leaned back into the cushions of the seat, she realised that she didn’t want to move for a long time. She closed her eyes and let the sound of a hundred other conversations wash over her. Here and there she distinguished a single word - a phrase every now and then. But mostly it was just sound, and it gave her a wonderful feeling of separateness, like being without her universal translator in a busy marketplace where nobody spoke Standard. She loved the feeling of anonymity that came from not understanding a syllable. She reveled in it. Here she was just a tired woman in her fifties, her feet on the seat opposite like an adolescent, trying not to fall asleep in public.

‘Your espresso, ma’am.’

She opened her eyes and looked at the steaming cup of coffee that had appeared in front of her. She opened her mouth to say thank you, but whoever had brought it over had melted away again into the crowd. She took a sip and leaned back into the cushions. This time she didn’t close her eyes. Instead, she looked at those at the tables around her.

At one table was a young couple in civilian clothes. They were facing each other across the table, their eyes hardly moving from the other’s face. The young man held out his hand, and the young woman put her own hand in his and smiled. The woman watching from the corner booth smiled along with them.

Her gaze shifted to the next table. An older couple…both had graying hair, and a look of wisdom and experience around the eyes. This couple were deeply in love. It radiated from them, the affection and care each one had for the other. The watching woman sighed and took another sip of her coffee. That couple’s happiness was so palpable it hurt. Then she laughed gently at herself. She was happy, too.

She looked around the Night Owl again. It wasn’t all couples, and certainly there were groups and pairs of friends, enjoying each other’s company. But the fact had to be faced. She was the only one on her own.

She closed her eyes again. She ought to be used to it, being alone. Seven long years on board the ship, where the definition of life seemed to be 'alone'. The crew were alone in the quadrant, and as captain, she was alone among the crew. There had been many days and more nights when she had cursed Starfleet protocol and her own slavish adherence to it. But in the cold light of day she knew it was right. Non-fraternization sounded so antiseptic as a principle, but it was right. Argument after argument with her first officer and intermittent best friend had proven that.

That she had survived their isolation was no surprise. What did surprise her, every now and then, was that since they had returned she was far happier being alone. She lived alone, in a beautiful little apartment just outside the city. She worked well with her colleagues during the day, and occasionally joined them socially. But her greatest joy was to come into her apartment at the end of the day and drink in the silence. She went out to eat, too, but she ate alone, soaking up the atmosphere of meaningless, indistinguishable chatter around her. Just like she was doing today.

Finishing her coffee, she smiled to herself. She no longer had to be alone. And therefore, she was content - more than content - with her life. There would be bad days, when she gazed sadly at couples walking past, but she knew those days would be in the minority. This was her life, and she loved it. Waving at the barista behind the coffee machine, she walked out onto Market Street. No one was expecting her anywhere, no one was depending on her to do anything. Reveling in her freedom and independence, she walked away from the Night Owl, into the bustling crowds of the city.


End file.
